


The Shadow of the Wolf

by Ruusverd



Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [22]
Category: Echoes of the Fall - Adrian Tchaikovsky, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bronze Age AU, Gen, shapeshifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26103826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruusverd/pseuds/Ruusverd
Summary: Three groups meet at the Stone Place almost simultaneously. Emhyr reveals unexpected information, and Geralt has to resort to extreme measures to keep his pack safe.
Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863010
Comments: 15
Kudos: 13





	The Shadow of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's not hugely important to the plot, I'm going to be nicer than Adrian Tchaikovsky and just tell you that the River Champion is an unspecified member of the Dromaeosauridae family (Think the velociraptors in Jurassic Park) instead of making you piece it together from descriptions and the name "running lizard."
> 
> Also Kasra and Kasrani are gender neutral terms for "ruler" and "spouse-of-ruler," if that confuses anyone.

The Eyrie’s scouts were kept busy tracing the progress of the southern warband across the north. Geralt’s alarm increased when a messenger from Eskel relayed the news that the Kasra’s men had turned and were now headed northeast rather than due north.

“Unless they’re headed for the Eyrie, they’re headed for the Stone place too,” Milva said grimly. “I don’t know where else they could be going, and we’re going to end up running into them either way.”

“Well,” Cahir said gloomily, “What’s the _second_ most sacred place in the north?”

Geralt shook his head, “I don’t know of another place of similar significance, if any even exist, and we won’t have time to look for another with a whole warband chasing us across the north. We’ll just have to keep going and hope the Wolf tribes hurry.”

The distance between Geralt’s warband and the invaders grew shorter and shorter, and when they finally reached the Stone Place they could see the birds flying up from the trees, disturbed by the southern army’s advance. Geralt considered turning around and running away, but he knew there was nowhere for them to run to. Yennefer was right, the Kasra would never stop as long as Ciri was useful to him. This might be the only chance they would get.

They raced across the open space and made it to causeway just as the first soldiers emerged from the trees. They ran across the narrow bridge of land and then the hunters among them spun to face the Kasra’s men.

The southern army came to a stop on the other side of the bog, the quicksand of the swamp that surrounded the island too treacherous for even the Crocodiles to cross in safety. The army was only a small fraction of the soldiers that the Sun River Nation could muster, but it was still a larger warband than the entire adult population of the average northern tribe, hunters and hearth-keepers combined.

The front ranks of the soldiers parted to reveal a figure in ornate red robes and a heavy golden war-mask which completely obscured his face. Beside him stood a man with a scarf wound around his head and snake scales painted across his forehead and cheeks.

“Vilgefortz,” Yennefer hissed. “Emhyr’s favorite mouthpiece.”

“What are we going to do?” Ciri asked nervously. “There’s too many of them for us to fight!”

The Snake priest, Vilgefortz, walked ahead onto the narrow strip of solid ground. “Geralt White Wolf, Iron-wearer of the Elder Sea tribe, the Kasra asks that you come speak to him, face to face under pledge of truce!”

Lem made a rude noise. “As if we’d fall for that,” she chuckled.

Vilgefortz walked forward another few steps until Milva raised her bow threateningly. He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Meet us here, in the center of the causeway. This place is within range of the arrows of both sides, surely that provides enough security for us to meet and talk?”

Geralt looked back at the circle of stones, then at Ciri, then at the gathered southerners. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“What?” Ciri yelped.

Geralt looked at Yennefer grimly, “While they’re all looking at me and the Kasra, you take Ciri and do whatever you have to do in the circle.”

Yennefer looked dubious. “Changing a soul is hardly the work of an instant, Geralt.”

“Then pray to the Serpent that I manage to keep them talking long enough you to finish or for the rest of the Wolves to get here.” He nodded to Milva. “Keep us covered. If they break the truce I at least want to know the Kasra won’t be getting his way, either. I’d wager he’s wearing armor under those robes, so aim for the neck.”

Milva nodded firmly, keeping her arrow nocked and ready but not pulling back the bowstring.

Geralt walked slowly down the causeway, stopping in the midway point. The masked figure walked with solemn dignity to meet him, the Snake priest at his side. When they stood facing each other, the Kasra spread his hands and inclined his head slightly.

“The Kasra thanks you for bringing the girl Zireael of the lost Xin’trae tribe to him,” the priest said. “These things are known: He has long desired to offer his protection to her.”

“I didn’t bring her to you, you chased us down. She doesn’t need the kind of protection he’d give her.” Geralt told the priest, and then frowned. “Why am I talking to you? I agreed to speak to the Kasra.”

Vilgefortz sneered at him, “You are speaking to the Kasra. The Kasra does not speak directly to his inferiors. I speak his words for him, and you may address your replies to him.”

Geralt glared at the masked figure, “You said you wanted to speak face to face. I came out here alone, and not only do I not see your face, but you also brought your priest to say your words for you. Either speak to me yourself or let me get my own Snake. Then they can talk to each other and spare us both the trouble.”

Vilgefortz puffed up indignantly like the adder he likely wished to Step to, but the Kasra raised a hand to halt the priest’s words. “Go back to the others, Vilgefortz. I will speak to the Wolf directly.” he said, his voice muffled by the mask, which had holes for the wearer to look through but no opening for speech.

Vilgefortz hesitated, thrown by the breach of tradition. The Kasra made a dismissive gesture and the priest retreated, glaring daggers back at Geralt as he went.

“The priest spoke my words truly,” the Kasra told Geralt, “I do thank you for your service in bringing her to me. I thought I would have to go all the way to your little village to fetch her.”

“If you knew where we were, why didn’t you come before now?”

The Kasra’s voice conveyed a smile that Geralt couldn’t see. “I’ve known where you were from almost the beginning. Spies are pathetically easy to buy, even in the north, and your band is hardly subtle. But Old Crocodile is not called the Patient One for nothing. Why would I interfere when you were giving her the best possible upbringing for my purpose, surrounding her with the people of so many different tribes? I suppose I should thank you for that, as well.”

Geralt shifted, uneasy with the turn the conversation was taking. “I thought you would want your Kasrani to be raised in Atahlan, not as a ‘barbarian’ in the north.”

“My Kasrani?” the Kasra tilted his head as if puzzled. “Ah, I see the confusion. You’ve mistaken my purpose, the same as all the rest. I don’t intend to make Zireael my Kasrani, I intend to make her _Kasra_ when I’m gone _._ Any… _deficiencies_ shall we say, in her manners or education will be easy enough to correct once she’s in Atahlan where she belongs. _”_

“You’re lying, the River Lords would never allow a Lioness to rule them.”

The Kasra tilted his head. “But Zireael isn’t only a Lioness. You’re the only one still living who could recognize the truth, and you deserve to be the first to know after how well you’ve served me. Inadvertent as your service may have been.” Carefully the Kasra reached up and lifted the heavy mask away, revealing a face Geralt had seen only once many years ago, but still recognized from the subtle similarities it shared with Ciri’s.

“Duny,” Geralt said, frozen with shock.

“Duny, yes, for a while. As long as it took to accomplish my goal.” Emhyr smiled, his uncovered face more disconcerting to Geralt than the snarling war-mask.

“So there wasn’t any curse; you were never hollow at all.”

“No. But while the Usurper reigned it was safer to be known as Duny the hollow man than Emhyr, true heir to the Daybreak Throne. It’s not as though hollow men are common, who would be able to tell the difference between a man who can’t Step and a man who chooses not to? There are stories of people with no souls, but no eyewitnesses.”

“Did Pavetta know?” Geralt demanded.

“Not until the end. I had gone to meet with Vilgefortz, to discuss our plan for unseating the Usurper. Pavetta followed me and overheard us. I told her everything, told her I wanted her and Zireael to join me in Atahlan once I reclaimed my throne, I told her what Zireael could become.” Emhyr sighed, regret showing on his face. “She didn’t understand. She went into a frenzy of rage and attacked me, and as we struggled Vilgefortz struck her with his fangs. The snake’s venom took her quickly. Her death truly grieved me, even though I didn’t love her the way she loved me. As a Plains woman she could not have stood beside me as Kasrani, but she would have been well provided for as the mother of my heir. I was very angry with Vilgefortz, but unfortunately he is too useful a tool to discard.”

“Then what you wanted with Ciri…”

“Yes, now do you see, my friend? Zireael isn’t to be the _mother_ of the child who will unite the world, she _is_ that child. The daughter of the River Champion and the Champion of the Plains, raised in the Crown of the World by an Iron Wolf, the closest thing to a Champion the north has, in a tribe made up of many people of many forms living together. What better upbringing could she have had to prepare her to hold the souls of all the peoples?

“And now you’ve brought her here, to this island which is closer to the gods than any other place in the north. What better place could there be to bring the Champion of Champions into the world? She’ll master the northern gods here, and then we can move on to the Plains and the Sun River Nation.”

Geralt shook his head, trying to reassemble the framework that Emhyr had so casually destroyed, putting the familiar pieces back together into an unfamiliar shape. He wondered if their plan for changing Ciri’s soul would derail Emhyr’s plans after all. _Too late to_ _for second guessing_ _now,_ he thought grimly. _We’ll just have to hold the island long enough for Eskel_ _and the others_ _to get here._ “I won’t let you have her.”

The Kasra’s eyes went flat and cold, though his smile remained in place. “I don’t need you to _let_ me. Even if you somehow managed to escape from this island, the men you see behind me are only a fraction of the soldiers I have at my disposal. I could cover the north in my soldiers, there would be nowhere you could hide her from me.”

“I’ve kept her from you this far,” Geralt pointed out.

“Only because I allowed you to, and I no longer wish to allow it. I am not ungrateful; if you stand aside now, I will reward you handsomely for all you have done. I will give you a place in my court, perhaps as head of my daughter’s guard. You would be provided for, you would never again need to live by hunting like a mute beast and scraping in the dirt for a meager harvest. If you do not stand aside, I will kill you all and take what I want anyway.”

“Ciri would never forgive you if you killed her family. _Again._ Assuming your plan would even work, how long would you live if your Champion of Champions wanted you dead?”

“I know you love my daughter, why would you deprive her?” Emhyr asked, looking frustrated. “She could sit on the throne of the most prosperous nation in the world! I could unite the world through her, so that one day when I am ready to go to the river I could hand her the Daybreak Throne, and she could rule in peace! You would have her live out her life as one savage among many, when she could be the most powerful person, both politically and personally, that has ever walked the earth since before our ancestors came to these lands!”

“Or she could die, or be driven insane, or be left with no soul at all,” Geralt countered. “She isn’t a tool for your mad ambitions, and she isn’t your daughter. She’s mine, by the Law of Surprise. If you won't honor the bargain you made then, I don't see why I should trust any bargain you try to make with me now.”

Emhyr let his smile fade. “Is that your final decision, on behalf of yourself and these fools who stand with you?”

“Yes,” Geralt said firmly.

“So be it.” Emhyr Kasra carefully placed the snarling war-mask back over his face. “I do regret that this has become necessary, believe me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Geralt said flatly. “You would never have allowed any of us to live. You say you want a Champion of all the world, but she would have to be your own champion before anything else. You couldn’t afford to risk her loyalties being divided.”

“Believe what you wish.” The Kasra started to turn away, then paused. The sound of many voices howling in unison came ringing from the trees. “What is that?”

The howls died away and dozens of silent forms began to emerge from the trees. Wolves on two feet in long gray coats of iron, long knives and axes in their human hands. Wolves on four feet that might be carrying anything beneath their pelts of mingled black, brown, gray, and white. In either form Geralt could recognize Eskel among the Many Mouths, Coen with the Winter Runners and the Moon Eaters, whose territories overlapped, and Lambert with a band of the Swift Backs, who must have run on wolf’s feet from the very hour they received the call in order to reach the Stone Place so quickly. Geralt could practically feel the Wolf’s eyes on them, with so many of his people standing together in one place with a common goal. The Shadow of the Wolf had fallen across the Stone Place.

“You should know, with all your spies. That’s the sound of Wolves howling, Duny.” Geralt felt the urge to laugh in relief. “The tribes of the Wolf may not like the idea of our band,” he said, repeating what Eskel had told him, “but they like the idea of you and your armies trampling over the Crown of the World even less.” Geralt couldn’t see Emhyr’s expression behind the mask, to gauge his reaction. On the shore, the leaders of the Kasra’s soldiers were shouting for the rearmost ranks to turn around and face the new, larger threat. Vilgefortz started hurrying across the causeway towards the Kasra. Milva raised her bow threateningly, but Geralt gestured for her to wait. Hopefully the Kasra would be wise enough to retreat without bloodshed, but if she killed the priest it would spark an immediate attack.

Vilgefortz whispered urgently in the Kasra’s ear, clearly trying to chivy him back to where his men were waiting. For a moment Geralt thought they would leave in peace, but then the priest trailed off, looking over Geralt’s shoulder. “What are they doing in the circle?”

Geralt shifted, trying to block the priest’s view of Ciri and Yen, but rage twisted up the man’s face and he knew it was too late.

“Stop them!” the priest shouted, Stepping almost before the words had left his mouth. The snake shot past Geralt’s legs before he could react, and within a breath Emhyr had Stepped to the River’s Champion, shouldering Geralt aside while he was distracted and running on sickle-clawed feet towards the stone circle. The soldiers on the shore, seeing their Kasra and the Priest Stepping but unable to hear what had happened, began shouting about treachery and charged down the causeway, crowding onto the narrow path.

Geralt started to chase after the Kasra and his priest, then stopped when he saw Lem and Cahir moving to intercept them. He turned back towards the rest of the soldiers as Milva and Regis launched themselves into the air, the Hawk Stepping midair to send her arrows towards the army’s leaders, the Bat aiming his soundless scream at the soldiers who were trying to rush the island, slowing them down. The warband of Wolves, seeing the fighting begin, launched themselves at the unwelcome intruders, iron weapons and iron teeth flashing with equal ferocity.

And yet there were still too many coming towards the island. Only a few of them would be able to face him at a time on the narrow strip of land, but if they made it to the end of the bridge and onto the island where there was room for them to spread out, all would be lost before the Wolf tribes could hope to break through. Geralt would have to trust Cahir and Lem to handle Emhyr and Vilgefortz. He had to hold the causeway.

The soldiers coming towards him were recovering from Regis’ attack, and the Bat himself was wheeling away to avoid the arrows lancing up at him. Milva redirected her own arrows towards the enemy’s archers, but it wouldn’t be enough. A single Iron Wolf was the equal of even the River’s Champions in single combat, but they weren’t invincible, and every enemy Geralt defeated would be instantly replaced by another. He needed more strength. He _had_ to keep the soldiers off the island long enough for the Wolves to break through. No matter the cost.

He took the luxury of a half second to glance back at Yennefer and Ciri, kneeling in the circle facing each other, apparently unaware of the chaos erupting around them. _I’m sorry, Yennefer,_ he thought bleakly. He took a deep breath and reached down inside himself for the soul he’d never thought he would call on. Stepping that way once had disfigured him and nearly broken his mind. He knew if he Stepped that way again he likely wouldn’t survive at all. But in the time before he died, he would have all the strength he needed.

Geralt  wrapped himself in that ancient soul  and Stepped to the form of the Wolf’s Champion.


End file.
